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g^f'-1- 
Ife 


LIBRARY 

OK  THI: 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA. 

(T!  KT  OK 


JAN  1895      .  7$9     . 
Accessions  No.     ^(a^       CLns  No.        ^lQ^. 


AN  ARBOREAL  SONG 


THE   ALAMEDA 

(The  Beautiful  Way,) 


PRESENTED  TO 

THE   LADIES'   BENEVOLENT    SOCIETY 
OF  SAN  JOSE,  CAL. 


BY 

MRS.    MARY   H.   FIELD 


PUBLISHED   BY  THE  SOCIETY 
1878 


Copyright,  1878, 
By  M.  H.  FIELD. 


NOTE 

"The  Avenue  of  Willows  connecting  San  Jose 
with  Santa  Clara  Mission  was  planted  in  1799,  under 
the  supervision  of  Father  Maguin  de  Catala.  He 
employed  two  hundred  Indians  to  plant,  water  and 
protect  them  until  they  became  sufficiently  large  to 
need  no  care.  They  were  of  much  value  to  the 
inhabitants  of  both  settlements  not  only  as  shade, 
but  as  protection  against  the  assaults  of  the  cattle 
which  were  feeding  over  the  valley." 

"s  History  of  San  Jose. 

^O9  THK 

W7BRSIT7] 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


1 1  AM  GNARLED  AND  GRAY  AND  OLD,"  -  n 

'  'TIS  THE  HIGHWAY  OF  THE  LORD!"  -      21 

BEAUTIFUL  DWELLINGS  STOOD  HALF  REVEALED,"  29 

ITS  WALLS  HAVE  CRUMBLED  DOWN,"  33 


THE  ALAMEDA 


(The  Beautiful  Way.) 


AN  ARBOREAL  SONG. 


THE  song  of  an  ancient  tree, 
Which  it  softly  crooned  to  me, 
As  I  walked  on  an  autumn  day 
In  the  Alameda — the  beautiful  way — 
The  pride  and  the  joy  of  San  Jose. 

Was  the  wind  the  wandering  troubadour 
Who  swept  for  me  his  wild  harp  strings, 
Or  did  Hamadryad's  soul  outpour 
Its  mystical,  musical  murmurings? 


io  An  Arboreal  Song. 

"Ah  me!"  it  sighed,  "Ah  me! 

What  a  weary  while  is  a  century! 

I  am  gnarled  and  gray  and  old, 

Shattered  and  furrowed, — Ah,  behold 

My  very  heart  is  a-cold,  a-cold  1 

Yet  the  century's  years  are  still  untold 

But  age  is  the  time  for  dreaming, 

And  I  live  in  a  tranced  land, 

Where  the  long  dead  past  to  me  doth  stand 

Too  real,  too  close,  for  seeming; 

Where  the  dim  and  the  far  still  seem  most 
near, 

And  the  long-hushed  voices  fall  most  clear. 


12  An  Arboreal  Song. 

"  I  hear  them  talking, — the  friars  all, 
The  gray  old  Mission  Fathers  nine, — 
As  they  sit  in  the  long  refectory  hall, 
Lingering  over  bread  and  wine ; 
While  swart  of  brow  and  lithe  of  limb, 
A  dusky  edge  to  the  picture's  rim, 
The  Indian  Neophytes  serving  stand, 
Alert  for  a  word  or  a  beckoning  hand. 

"  Father  Maguin  de  Catalans  voice, 
Speaking  in  soft  Castilian  phrase, 
Is  heard  above  the  murmurous  noise: 


An  Arboreal  Song.  13 

'  Pardon,  my  brothers/  he  gently  says, 

'  If  my  thought  seems  weak  or  wild, 

Like  the  famous  schemes  of  the  errant  knight, 

With  the  zeal  of  a  man  and  the  heart  of  a 
child, 

Whose  deeds  Cervantes  doth  indite! 

" '  But  our  blessed  religion  doth  bid  us  be 
Filled  with  compassionate  charity; 
And,  O,  how  wearily  to  and  fro 
Our  faithful  flock  do  come  and  go! 
Scorched  by  sun  and  beaten  by  rain, 
Or  choked  with  the  dust  of  the  arid  plain, 
Where  the  fierce  wild  cattle  roam  at  will 

And  the  weak  and  the  helpless  with  terror 
fill,— 


14  An  Arboreal  Song. 

"  '  So  that  only  through  peril  and  fear  and  woe 
To  the  sacred  rites  of  the  church  they  go. 
O  brothers,  hear  and  approve  my  plan 
For  the  glory  of  God  and  the  good  of  man! 
Let  us  plant  some  trees  whose  greenery 
A  screen  from  the*-burning  sun  shall  be; 
Whose  firm-set  trunks  may  keep  at  bay 
The  red-eyed  bull  from  his  fainting  prey, 
And  whose  grateful  shade  on  us  may  fall, 
When,  with  reverent  and  uncovered  head, 
We  move  with  slow  and  solemn  tread 
In  the  Corpus  Christi  Processional.' 


An  Arboreal  Song.  1 5 

"  Then  Father  Serra  shook  his  head. 

'  Good  brother  de  Catala,'  he  said, 

'  Is  a  league  of  forest  so  small  a  thing 

That  it  lies  within  our  compassing? 

Let  us  level  the  mountains  that  round  us  lie! 

Let  us  dip  with  a  gourd  old  ocean  dry! 

Let  us  pluck  the  stars  down  out  of  the  sky!' 

"  Then  the  Fathers  Pena  and  Palou  smiled, 
But  others  spoke  in  approval  mild, 
And  one  was  absorbed  in  revery  deep, 
While  one  good  brother  fell  fast  asleep. 


1 6  An  Arboreal  Song. 

Still  the  Friar  de  Catala  looked  as  one 
Whose  dauntless  faith  beholds  as  done 
That  which  his  warm  heart  bids  him  plan 
For  the  glory  of  God  and  good  of  man! 

"Behind  him,  attent  and  still  and  bright, 
Waited  a  dark-eyed  Acolyte. 
He  lightly  bent  to  the  father's  ear 
With  a  whispered  word  of  love  and  cheer, — 
'  Holy  Father!  the  work  shall  speed, 
Many  and  strong  are  the  men  for  the  deed, 
And  wherever  the  cooling  waters  flow 
There  the  thirsty  willows  crowding  grow.' 


An  Arboreal  Song.  17 

The  father  turned  on  the  eager  youth 

His  gentle  glance,  and  'Thou  speakest  truth, 

Benedicite!'  murmured  he, 

'Doubt  and  delay  shall  before  it  flee.' 

"Again  a  turn  of  shifting  sands: 

I  feel  the  wrench  of  cruel  hands 

Tearing  me  loose  from  the  dear  cool  earth 

Where  we  lithe  young  willows  had  our  birth, 

Bearing  us  off  forever 

From  the  sweet  clear  rippling  river; 

The  swirl  and  rush  of  its  winter  flood, 

The  lingering  kiss  of  its  summer  mood, 

Gone  from  our  lives  forever! 


1 8  An  Arboreal  Song. 

"  But  hundreds  of  willing  hands 
Are  planting  us  deep  anew; 
Hundreds  of  willing  hands 
The  fresh  mold  o'er  us  strew; 
Hundreds  of  tawny  hands, 
Slim  and  unused  to  toil, 

Wondering  at  the  white  man's  endless  fret 
and  moil, 

Yet  striving  the  good  friar's  mysterious  will 
to  do. 

"It  is  done,  it  is  done  at  last! 
Like  sentinels  arrayed, 
A  triple  line  of  willows  cast 
A  league  of  flickering  shade. 


An  Arboreal  Song.  19 

Still  there  were  scoffers  to  say 
'They  are  only  there  to  die, 
It  is  labor  thrown  away, — 
The  next  year  will  be  dry.' 

'"Then  we  will  plant  them  again!' 
Said  Father  de  Catala's  voice, 
'And  your  children's  children,  O  men! 
Shall  yet  in  their  shade  rejoice. 

"  Our  Mission  will  pass  away 

When  its  time  of  need  is  past. 

It  will  have  its  use  and  day, 

But  the  race  of  trees  and  men  will  last!' 


2O  An  Arboreal  Song. 

"When  the  weary  friar  slept  that  night 
There  hovered  o'er  him  a  vision  bright; 
And  he  saw,  as  in  a  magical  glass, 
The  far  off  future  before  him  pass. 

"  Lo !  the  trees  of  his  planting  so  stately  grew. 

They  leaned  their  tops  'gainst  the  sky's  soft 
blue, 

While  intertwining  on  every  side 

The  giant  branches  stretched  far  and  wide. 

'Neath  the  lovely  living  arches  span 

The  broad  smooth  highway  level  ran, 

Its  verdurous  vistas  stretching  on 

Till  the  power  of  the  raptured  eye  was  gone. 


22  An  Arboreal  Song. 

In  his  dreams  he  fell  his  knees  upon, 
And  cried  'Tis  the  Highway  of  the  Lord, 
By  seers  foretold  in  His  Holy  Word!' 

"  Nay!  Behold  a  miracle  wrought  again 
To  show  His  power  to  the  sons  of  men! 
A  mighty  Cathedral  here  doth  stand, 
By  no  human  builders  upreared  or  planned; 
Whose  groined  arches  upward  spring, 
Like  the  souls  of  the  faithful  worshiping; 
With  carving  and  tracery  fine  and  fair, 
No  mortal  graver's  could  with  it  compare; 


An  Arboreal  Song.  23 

And  through  stained  windows  in  wondrous 
mood, 

Glorious  and  changeful  and  rainbow-hued, 
God's  blessed  sunshine  doth  pour  and  fall 
Like  a  benediction  upon  it  all! 

"  In  his  long-lost  youth  had  the  friar  strayed 
'Neath  the  fair  Alhambra's  classic  shade; 
In  Valombrosa's  leafy  bowers 
He  had  roamed  through  happy  moonlit  hours, 
And  his  glowing  heart  had  felt  the  thrall 
Of  the  great  Cathedrals  on  it  fall, 
But  never  such  weird  resistless  spell 
As  this  gracious  marvelous  miracle. 


24  An  Arboreal  Song. 

"Then  the  vision  shifted,  and,  behold! 
A  host,  whose  numbers  could  not  be  told, 
Down  the  shadowy  roadway  hurrying  press, 
Like  the  Israelites  from  the  wilderness. 
And  first  in  the  long  procession  came 
His  own  dear  flock,  whom  he  called  by  name, 
And  who  passed  him  each  with  bended  head 

That  his  blessing  hands  might  o'er  them 
spread. 

The  aged  and  youthful,  the  high  and  low, 
Matron  and  maiden  onward  go; 
To  the  marriage  sacrament,  side  by  side, 
The  happy  bridegroom  and  blushing  bride; 


An  Arboreal  Song.  25 

"Little  children  who  gaily  went 

With  their  infant  brows  so  innocent; 

The  tender  babe  on  its  mother's  breast 

That  the  church's  chrism  on  it  might  rest; 

Weeping  penitents  hasting  to  fall 

At  the  comforting  confessional; 

While  creeping  onward  sad  and  slow 

A  mournful  funeral  train  doth  go, 

That  solemn  masses  be  sung  and  said 

To  cheer  the  living,  give  peace  to  the  dead. 

And  the  good  priest  blessed  them  all  as  they 
went 

To  the  Church's  Holy  Sacrament. 


26  An  Arboreal  Song. 

"  But  anon  to  the  friar's  view  there  came, 
A  surging  crowd  of  an  unknown  name. — 
An  endless,  hurrying,  jostling  throng, 
Full  of  laughter  and  jest  and  song, — 
The  tread  of  a  myriad  coming  feet, 
The  ceaseless  tide  of  a  city's  street, 
The  stately  coach  and  the  lumbering  wain; 
And  wheeled  wonders  he  could  not  explain, 
Which  came  with  rumble  and  rush  and  roar, 
Swarming  with  people,  behind,  before, 
Above,  within,  and  under  too, 
For  aught  that  the  puzzled  friar  knew ! 


An  Arboreal  Song.  27 

"Horsemen  and  footmen  rushing  past 

A  river  of  travel  so  strange  and  vast 

That  Father  de  Catala's  patient  eye 

Too  weary  grew  for  observancy, 

And  the  changing  figures  seemed  to  be 

But  the  puppet  shows  of  jugglery  ! 

Only  his  dim  eye  still  could  see, 

That  many  a  fainting  pilgrim  stayed 

For  a  blissful  rest  'neath  the  pleasant  shade ; 

And  he  read  in  many  a  lingering  eye 

Sweet  gratitude  for  his  ministry, 


28  An  Arboreal  Song. 

"  Or  heard  a  benison  bestowed 

On  the  unknown  builders  of  the  road. 

"^* 

"  Then  an  angel  touched  him  and  softly  said, 
'A  hundred  years  in  thy  dreams  have  fled  ! 
Lift  up  thy  eyes,  and  thou  shalt  know 
The  changes  time  shall  surely  show.' 

"Then,  far  as  his  charmed  gaze  could  stray, 
The  '  Happy  Valley'  all  smiling  lay. 
Beautiful  dwellings  stood  half  revealed, 
Yet  by  vine  and  blossom  half  concealed, 
Lowliest  cottage  or  lordliest  hall 
The  clustering  roses  embrace  them  all. 


30  An  Arboreal  Song. 

"  For  his  dear  familiar  Mission  home 
The  stately  College  high  reared  its  dome; 
While  near  and  far  in  the  sunny  air 
Fair  church  spires  pointed  the  way  of  prayer ; 
And  ever  still  by  the  Church's  side 
The  Halls  of  Learning  stood  open  wide. 
O'er  the  sky  of  his  dream  his  old  words  ran, 
'For  the  glory  of  God  and  the  good  of  man  !' 
Afar  where  the  wild  rank  mustard  grew 
Shone  the  waving  harvest's  golden  hue, 
While  purple  vintage  and  fruit-bowed  tree 
In  the  friar's  dream  spread  temptingly. 


An  Arboreal  Song.  31 

"'The  Garden  of  Eden  F  aloud  he  cried, 
'May  no  serpent  of  Evil  there  abide  F 

"  The  matin  bell  was  loudly  ringing, — 

'  Now  may  the  dear  saints  pardon  me/ 
Cried  the  holy  man  from  his  pallet  springing, 
'If  my  dream  was  wrought  by  Diablerie  !' 
He  crossed  himself  on  his  bended  knee, 
And  the  peace  of  Heaven  blessed  him  there, 
As  from  guileless  heart  he  breathed  his  prayer, 
And  cheerful  rang  his  voice  in  the  singing. 


32  An  Arboreal  Song. 

"The  friar's  years  went  onward  gliding, 
But  the  beauteous  Vision  did  ne'er  depart 

Like  an  angel  presence  still  abiding, 
It  cheered  forever  that  faithful  heart. 

And  those  who  loved  him  and  shared  his 
going 

To  care  for  the  willows  day  by  day, 

Would  hear  him  say  as  he  watched  their 
growing, 

'  My  blessed  Vision  !    My  Beautiful  Way!' 


34  An  Arboreal  Song. 

"Till   the  Pueblos  rang  with  the  grateful 
praising 

Of  the  road  where  the  pleasant  shadows 
lay, 

And  the  people  named  it  in  happy  phrasing 
'The  Alameda  !'— The  Beautiful  Way  ! 

"  The  Mission  Fathers  are  gone, — 
Peace  to  the  saintly  dead  ! 

Its  walls  have  crumbled  down, 
And  the  Neophytes  all  are  fled. 

"  I  too  am  my  end  an  ear/' 

And  the  sere  leaves  shook  anew, 

"  Falling  are  my  brothers  dear, — 
But  the  Friar's  Vision  was  true  !" 


An  Arboreal  Song.  35 


The  Rune  of  the  Tree  was  done, 

But  my  thoughts  still  sang  to  me, 
As  leaves  go  whispering  on 

Though  the  breeze  of  the  morn 
doth  flee. 

Gone  are  the  fathers  all  I 

In  the  chapel's  crypt  they  lie, 

Where  no  tender  rain  may  fall, 
Or  gleam  from  our  sunny  sky. 


36  An  Arboreal  Song. 

No  sculptured  marble  doth  show 

Each  old  historic  name; 
No  blazoned  window  doth  glow 

With  the  record  of  their  fame, 

But  their  living  monument  stands  to-day 
In  The  Alameda— The  Beautiful  Way  ! 


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